Page 1 of Mad for Madison

CHAPTER 1

Nights at the Burrow

Bradley

Parties at NeonNights were a big thing, even if they were common. There was a sort of rhythm we all fell into when each Friday came around. The sense of expectations that mixed with the flurry of activity filled us all with the energy that was needed to push through the day.

I unlocked Neon Nights just after six in the morning and flicked the warm interior lights on. The city that never slept was still fast asleep, at least in our little corner of it. Across the street, where Roman and Tristan lived with their three other roommates, the lights were off. In truth, it was unlikely that Tristan was even there, and it wouldn’t have surprised me to find Roman descending the stairs from Mama Viv’s place above the bar. And if I were being completely honest, it only ever was one window I looked at whenever I arrived at work.

The place was neat and warm. Mama Viv automated the heating system downstairs so that the first ones to arrive each morning didn’t have to wait for the warmth to kick in. It was only one example of the quiet, deliberate care she provided to those around her.

We didn’t open for another hour, but a bar like Neon Nights always required maintenance and couldn’t open its doors to guests without a great deal of preparation, especially on a day when a lineup of drag queens was set to perform in front of a big crowd.

I went around the place to make sure everything was the way it should be. After checking that all the tables were clean, I ran through the inventory. The aroma of coffee I was making for myself filled the space as it always did. That first brew on a cold morning added something magical to my routine. I could have had a mug Gran made this morning, but they were never as good as a shot of espresso at Neon Nights.

It was just a few minutes later that deliveries began to arrive. Burger buns from a local baker, fresh produce from Amir around the corner, and several separate deliveries of beer from small brewers came in rapid succession. I checked them, signed for them, and exchanged a few polite words with each delivery person.

Before I could turn around, the time of quiet was over. Tristan arrived in a rush, but he always had a ready smile when he greeted you in the morning. “How’s it going?”

“Couldn’t be better,” I would say, regardless of whether it could. I made a cup of coffee for him while he set up the kitchen. There was a clear territorial division there. I led the bar, and Tris led the kitchen. We didn’t meddle in each other’s business.

“It’s freezing out there,” Tristan complained after joining me at the bar, putting both hands around the mug of hot coffee.

“I’m guessing you didn’t just cross the street, then,” I said.

He gave me a cheeky smile. “You’re guessing correctly.”

Cedric Phillipe Valois Montclair had an apartment just off the neighborhood’s edge in one of the big, fancy buildings. Tristan had practically moved in with him months ago. Despitethat, he still paid his portion of the rent across the street and kept his room intact.

I was happy for him. He had always been a kind guy. Even before Mama Viv had employed him to manage the kitchen and expand the offerings Neon Nights had for our hungry guests, Tristan had been the first in line to do any odd job that was necessary. He never shied away from hard work. Even after he got together with a prince from a small, faraway kingdom, Tristan never let that go into his head. He could have dropped Neon Nights in a heartbeat. He probably could have opened a restaurant in the city and made a business out of it, but he remained loyal to Mama Viv, who needed a talented chef in her lineup.

I held back a dreamy sigh as my thoughts went far from the bar and into the realm of pure fantasy. It was hard not to entertain daydreams about being with the perfect guy when everyone around me seemed to have their dreams come true.

Roman, who had often worked the bar alongside me, found love in the unlikeliest of places, just like Tris. Roman’s stand against the crooked real estate mogul brought him straight to the mogul’s son, Everett, and they joined forces to stop Mr. Langley from forcing the sale of Neon Nights a few months ago.

Even our favorite delivery guy, Zain, no longer delivered fresh produce from his father’s store. He worked in research for one of the companies owned by Dominic Blackthorne, once upon a time called the Baron of Manhattan for the fact that he had a hand in half of Manhattan-based businesses.

Each and every one of my friends from the Burrow had fallen in love and found someone they could call their own in the last six months. And each story seemed more impossible than the one before it.

It was impossible not to hope for a similarly happy ending, even though I knew I was not destined to have one.

“Who’s coming tonight?” I asked Tristan.

“The usual suspects,” he replied, sighing after taking a sip of coffee. “I think Zain’s bringing Dominic again. Roman’s coming for sure, and so is Everett. Luke and Rafael won’t miss it.”

“Nobody else from across the street?” I asked, hoping I sounded casual.

“I don’t think so,” Tristan replied. “I don’t think Oakley’s ever been to a party.”

For the other two roommates, the excuses were already well-known. Lane came from time to time, but he was probably working out whenever he didn’t come, and Madison…well, who the hell knew what Madison was up to?

“And who the hell knows what Madison is up to,” Tristan said.

I suppressed a laugh. Madison’s name was rarely spoken without the rest of the adage.

Sometimes, if the work wasn’t busy, I found myself standing nearer to the window, looking out, and I would spot him leaving the building. Not that I was stalking or anything like that. His schedule was way too irregular for anyone to stalk him with any success.

“Maybe he’ll surprise us,” I offered, focusing on polishing the glasses behind the bar. My tone was neutral, but Tristan’s knowing grin told me he wasn’t fooled.

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